


The Well

by eidheann



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 12:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 21,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidheann/pseuds/eidheann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where there's a wish...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first bit of fanwork (or fiction writing in general). Originally a series of drabbles written/posted once per day for ~1 month. It's rough, it's unbeta'd. I affectionately call this monster my drabble!fail, and I'm pretty proud of it on the whole.

It was dark, and he knew he wasn't supposed to be here. The wards were old, but they were tuned to intent, and to prevent more than one person present to avoid anything from being done counter to the will of all present. He was alone and desperate, and the wards parted for him like water.  
  
Wishing wells were strange things, this one more than most. It was avoided in the main. It had a history of granting wishes in a most... inconvenient manner. It gave new meaning to "be careful what you wish for" and as such it was fairly unpopular.  
  
Desperation causes risk to be deemed worth it. Stretching his hand over the pool, there was a flash of metal and two drops of blood dripped into the clear water.  
  
He had spent a great deal of time going over the wish. He knew he would need to be specific, and not inadvertently say or do anything that would trigger the wards. No harm; no coercion; nothing that could be seen as purely selfish. Those were the wishes that always backfired.  
  
Something general. Something he could wish that would have nothing but good consequences.  
  
"I wish love really could conquer all..."  
  
The water below his hand began to swirl quickly downward, and he stared entranced as it seemed to flow down into a black nothing. Then, a blinding flash, leaving his eyes dazed and filled with stars.  
  
Blinking away tears, he stared once more at the pool, it's surface once again mirror smooth.  
  
"I love you, and I want you happy, even if it's not with me." Turning to walk away, he didn't see the flash of familiar green in the pool, as if the eyes he loved so much were watching him go.


	2. Chapter 2

When he woke the next morning, sun shining in familiar patterns across his face and sheets, he expected to feel... something. The Well accepted his wish, everything happened as he'd been told. The blood, the spiral, the flash... He looked around his bedroom, but it was identical to it's appearance every other morning since he'd moved to the flat. He slowly pushed back and leaned against the headboard moments before his borrowed house elf appeared with his usual breakfast tray. Same tray, same eggs, same toast, same jar of marmalade, same cup of tea. Same curtsy before disappearing with the same quiet pop.  
  
He frowned but began eating his breakfast with the force born of habit. Sure enough, 20 minutes later, the elf reappeared briefly before she and his tray disappeared again.  
  
Shoving back his covers, he climbed out of bed and stomped to the wardrobe. He knew he was behaving childishly, but it should have worked. He glanced at his palm where the remains of the small cut remained. He hadn't dreamed it. The Well worked. It always worked. It's why he decided the risk was worth it. But this... His wish was general, vague by design, but the intent was clear.  
  
 _"Unless he never really loved you,"_  the traitorous voice whispered in the back of his mind. He shook his head, pausing from reaching toward his robes and knelt down, reaching to the back of the wardrobe and pulling out a shrunken engraved box. He clutched it to his chest and returned to his bed, taking his wand from the table. Two flicks had the box once again properly sized, and another caused the lid to swing up on delicate hinges. He reached inside and with a trembling hand, pulled out a single photograph. It was still, taken with a muggle camera that spat out the photograph immediately, and showed them outside a museum in muggle London. Dressed in muggle clothes, arms around each other, he laughing at something Harry had said before pressing a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek.  
  
He wiped wetness from his cheek and once again wished the photograph was wizarding. He hated he could only see Harry's face in profile, closed eyes, mouth mashed into his cheek. If the figures could move, he might understand what happened, find some reason to explain the distance. Some sign in Harry's eyes that Draco's feelings weren't reciprocated.  
  
But as always, the photograph didn't move.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't take long for the unchanging routine of his life to drive thoughts of the Well out of his mind. For the first week, he would find himself pulling the box from his wardrobe each morning after breakfast, and staring at the mark on his palm as it slowly healed, faded, disappeared. He refused to allow the elf to leave the flat when he was not present. Returning from visits with his mother, or from his scheduled portkeys to Paris where he was apprenticed to a Potions Master, he asked Lippy if anyone had visited, floo'd, owled. Always cursed the hope that tried to stir his heartbeat. Always answered with the same "No, I's sorry Master!" Always felt his expression slide to blankness, covering the growing emptiness he felt inside.  
  
The second week was much the same. Breakfast then picture then bathe then dress. The mark on his palm had faded to memory, but he would still find himself reaching for where it was, much as he had other things those weeks after... After. Hope never caused his heartrate to rise when he questioned Lippy, the question and answer just an addition to his daily routine.  
  
The third week, he told himself that he gave up. His routine returned to what it was before the night he is not thinking about. He stopped reaching for the box. Stopped opening it. Stopped looking at the photograph. Stopped remembering the feeling of the arm around his waist. His morning was toast-and-eggs. Bath. Dress. Fridays and weekends meant the day spent in Wiltshire, allowing his mother to fuss over him and use him as he uses her; to forget the trials of the present and pretend the good things haven't changed. Sometimes they return to Paris for shopping or restaurants or any of the things they cannot do in London since the war. The rest of the week, he spends in Paris, working at a cauldron bubbling in a room of gleaming white marble and high arches. Air and light and as different from his time in Hogwarts studying under his godfather as he was able to find.  
  
He pretends his studies in Paris are a choice. Indeed, his Master is almost talented enough for him to believe that he wouldn't study in England had the opportunity allowed. But the Malfoy name was still dirt, his father still in Azkaban, himself and his mother in a strange sort of limbo of public opinion. One marked, but both free for their assistance to the war, both responsible in their own ways for saving Harry's life. They are not spat on in the street, but they are avoided and their business is not welcome, either. Draco is grateful for France. Distant from the troubles in England, they welcome his NEWT scores and his family's money with open arms. Without them, he would speak to no one beyond his mother and house elf.  
  
The fourth week, his routine is interrupted. It is Friday. He and his mother are sitting in the conservatory with plates of cold roast chicken, haricots verts and berry trifle. He remembers the smell of the fountain, the moist soil in the flower pots, the smell of growing things. Then an elf arrives, bearing an envelope of thick white parchment, stamped with the seal of Azkaban. His mother takes it, her hand shaking only slightly, and cracks the seal. Pulling out the single sheet of parchment, her fair skin pales to a shocking white.  
  
He can only watch, setting his fork and knife back on the table, his fists tightening until it feels his knuckles will break through the skin. Her words, when they come, are somewhat expected, but no less shattering for hearing them said. "Your father, Draco. He is... he is gone."


	4. Chapter 4

The next week, Draco's schedule collapsed into nonexistence, just when he needed the familiarity most. The weekend was spent at the Manor, carefully not-thinking about the familiar rooms and memories of his childhood. His mother had taken to bed after reading the letter twice more, and had not emerged from her rooms since. It was left to him to make the necessary floo calls. First to his Master, bereavement leave was granted for as long as necessary, then to his parents remaining friends, most on the Continent. As he had died in Azkaban, his father would not be returned to be interred in the family vault until an Inquest had been completed. However, certain formalities must be maintained, and so he set to arranging a Memorial to be held at the family's chateau in Southern France the next week.  
  
On Friday, one week nearly to the hour of the message from Azkaban, an elf arrived in the library carrying another envelope, another official seal on the front, this time for the DMLE. He is briefly grateful his mother is still in her rooms, where she can hide the sherry she takes with her luncheon to mask her grief. It is a politely worded request from Granger, requesting he come to her office at his earliest convenience.  
  
Traveling to the Ministry is much the same as it always is since the War. He is stared at, frowned at, mothers hide their children, but no jeers, just silence. It is the silence, the cessation of conversation when he is seen that hurts the most, and he wraps himself in his Malfoy pride, not a trace of anything but tight shoulders, upright bearing, blank mask. Inside the Ministry is much the same. He hands over his wand to a sullen-faced guard, and takes the name badge in return. He becomes Draco Malfoy, appointment with Hermione Granger-Weasley, DMLE Inquest Division.  
  
He arrives at her office, one of many doors along a hallway distinguished only by the brass plaque on the door bearing her name. Knocks twice. Enters at her call. She glances up at him, hair beginning to frizz out from her low bun, one quill behind her ear, another in her hand, and she looks exactly the same as she did in Hogwarts. Exactly the same and his chest clenches. She was the only one that knew about... them. She and Pansy, and his owl this week inviting her to the memorial has been the only contact he's had with Pansy since she left him with a "this will never work out," and he's stayed silent because he could never bear her "I told you so's." Granger figured it out on her own, though. Came to Grimmauld Place when she knew they would both be there. Sat them down at talked at them for an hour. It was the second to last time he saw Harry, and he still wondered...  
  
Her face now was a mask of professional sympathy. She beckoned him to a chair and shuffled files around for a few moments. He watched her, focused more on maintaining his mask than anything she was doing. Afraid if he let it slip for a moment, he would ask her why. Why everything.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy..." she seemed uncomfortable and paused.  
  
He dipped his head slightly. "Granger."  
  
"Granger-Weasley." She seemed on firmer ground with the opportunity to correct, and he briefly regretted trying to bait her. "As I'm sure you can guess, this is about the... incident at Azkaban with your father."  
  
He blinked, startled. "Incident? What incident? We were told he'd died but the letter said nothing else. Did something happen?"  
  
She looked profoundly uncomfortable at that. He would have congratulated himself, but his heart was pounding and he had to focus on his breathing. "Er, yes. We need to take a statement from you... Anything you may have seen on your visits..."  
  
"Visits? What do you mean visits? We never..."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I have sworn statements here..." she lifted a sheaf of parchment, her discomfort turning mulish, "saying you had been to Azkaban to visit your father a week ago yesterday... The day before he passed."  
  
He shook his head, he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, his mask cracking. "We never went to Azkaban, Granger. It was not allowed. I have the decree at home; I'm certain my mother has her copy at the Manor as well. The Ministry refused us access and my father visiting privileges."  
  
She rocked back in her chair at that. The mulish expression changing to puzzlement. "So you were not at Azkaban on Thursday?"  
  
He could feel his hands shaking again, and knew he was losing all but the last shreds of control. "I am studying under a Potions Master. In Paris. I... He has me there every week. Monday through Thursday. I... No, I was not at Azkaban."  
  
Her frown hit him once again with memory of Hogwarts; he'd seen it often enough in Potions, Arithmancy. She was puzzling something, using that big brain of hers for something. "If you would bring me the letters, Mr. Malfoy? There apparently is more to this that I need to look into."  
  
His nod was stilted, and he stood abruptly. "Of course. I will owl them to you this afternoon. Good day, Granger."  
  
"Granger-Weasley," she replied automatically, her hand already reaching for another file, her attention caught by whatever it was she was thinking.  
  
He let the door close behind him with a quiet click.


	5. Chapter 5

There was no further response from Granger, beyond an owl acknowledging the receipt of the notices he sent. The weekend passed slowly, his mother left her room once to go for a walk through the garden, alone but for the subtle attention of the house elves. Draco wished for nothing so much as the ability to time-turn the previous week, go back to before the letter from Azkaban, or conversely ahead to after the Memorial. Each second seemed slower than the one previous, slower than the first week after visiting the Well.  
  
The morning of the Memorial dawned cool and drizzly in Wiltshire, but was sunny and perfect in France. He almost wished the two were reversed. Grey weather matched his mood, and would be more fitting for saying goodbye. It was surprisingly well attended. For all he had been imprisoned, his father retained a number of friends, and his mother had become closer to them in her solitude. His mother was lovely, a porcelain statue of grief surrounded by the green flowered field around her. Pansy was there, she had said nothing, simply holding his hand through the ceremony and lighting of the ceremonial fire.  
  
It was after, once all the guests had left and his mother had portkeyed back to the Manor that she finally spoke.  
  
"How are you, Draco?"  
  
He longed to lay this, everything at her feet, but knew he couldn't. Instead he gave a faint broken laugh, allowing some of his grief to finally show. "As well as can be expected. And yourself?"  
  
She shook her head, "I'm serious, Draco. I haven't heard from you in a year. I know you finally left Potter--"  
  
"Stop, Panse.."  
  
She frowned but continued as if he had said nothing, "-- because last I heard he was shacking up with one of those Weasleys in Romania... Training dragons or something."  
  
"Stop."  
  
"And you've done nothing but study and hide out in the Manor ever since. Draco..."  
  
"What? He left me! You were right! Are you happy now?" The mask he had been holding together so carefully over the past month shattered, and he felt tears running down his face at last.  
  
"Of course I'm not happy, you idiot! You are my best friend, I can't stand seeing you like this. I hate Potter for what he did to you. But you can't let him do this, you need to get on with your life!" She gripped the sides of his face, forcing him to look at her, her expression nearly as broken as his.  
  
"I can't. I love him."  
  
She sighed, brushing tears from his cheeks with her thumbs. "I am so sorry, dearest. So, so sorry." She pulled him to her and held him, rocking quietly as his tears slowed and stopped. He sat, enjoying the feeling of someone finally touching him, holding him before she broke the silence again. "This... isn't entirely altruistic on my part, Draco."  
  
He laughed briefly, more genuine than he had earlier in the conversation. "Of course, I would never accuse you of being altruistic, Panse..."  
  
"I want you to marry me."  
  
He sat up, frowning at her. "What? I don't think--"  
  
"I want you to marry me, Draco. Now. Soon."  
  
He shook his head, "Panse, it may have escaped your notice, but I'm  _gay_. And in mourning. And you've been seeing Theo since Hogwarts."  
  
"I've been living with Mother. Draco, I need you. I'm pregnant."  
  
He stared at her, mouth falling open in shock. "Theo?"  
  
She nodded, watching him carefully. "Yes, it's his. He.... We.... I left. He doesn't care."  
  
He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Does he know?"  
  
"He doesn't care," she stood up and began pacing, and he knew he'd get no other response to his question from her. "Draco, I wouldn't ask you this if it wasn't an emergency. You know that. I need you. Before I begin to show."  
  
He gave a faint nod. "Alright, Panse. Alright."


	6. Chapter 6

It was late when he stumbled back into his flat, eyes swollen and chest tight. Lippy met him at the floo, hopping back and forth from one foot to the other. "Master has a letter! Master had an owl!"  
  
He gave a tired wave to shut the creature up and she disappeared with a pop. He frowned and made his way to the study, and rubbed his head when he saw the DMLE stamp on the envelope. He lifted it, noted Granger's handwriting, and dropped it again. It had waited all day, it could wait until morning. At the moment, nothing seemed so desirable as sleep, perhaps for a month.  
  
He made it to his room and out of the stiff formal robes before finding his attention returned again to the wardrobe. He sighed, and cursing himself for a masochist, he pulled out the familiar box. He tossed it onto the bed and angrily waved his wand as it unlocked and opened. The picture taunted him from inside. He raised his wand again, tempted to cast  _Incendio_  and put himself out of this misery. Instead, he reached inside and picked up the photograph. "I missed you today." His finger reached out and brushed gently against the tousled head in the photograph. "I miss you every day. I just try to pretend I don't. It makes it easier..." He sat on the bed, pulling his knees to his chest. "Nothing could make today easier."  
  
~~~  
  
He awoke the next morning to the apologetic-sounding pop of a house elf. He was still half-dressed from the night before, the box open in the middle of his bed and photograph clutched in his fist. Looking around, he saw his morning tray, this morning the letter from Granger making an appearance beside the toast. Grimacing at the tray, he took the tea, letting the photograph fall to his lap. It was half gone before he felt ready to face whatever it was Granger wanted this time. Reaching out and popping the seal, he pulled the single sheet of Ministry letterhead and began to read.  
  


> Mr. Draco Malfoy,  
> Please come to my office at your earliest convenience.  
> Hermione Granger-Weasley  
> Office of DMLE, Inquest Division

  
He snorted, it was exactly the same as his previous summons to her office and told him precisely nothing. He pushed himself out of bed, unable to face the prospect of breakfast and paused as the photograph fell to the ground. Stubbornly, he left it there as he moved to begin his day.  
  
Returning from the bathroom, clean, though unable to erase the redness of his eyes without a glamour, he frowned. The photograph was still on the floor, the letter and box on his bed, though the tray had disappeared again. He'd somewhat hoped that Lippy would have assumed the photo was trash and disposed of it with the tray, taking it from his hands entirely. He returned it to the box, but hesitated to close it. Cursing himself for a fool, he reached for it again and put it in his pocket. Then, taking the summons from Granger, he left.  
  
~~~  
  
The trip to the Ministry was the same as it ever was. Once again he gave up his wand and became a name badge in return. Again, the long hallway, again the brass plaque. He knocked and again answered the call to enter. He sat in the same chair and there was the same pause as each waited for the other to speak first. This time, it was he who broke.  
  
"Your summons arrived during my father's memorial in France. I did not return until well after hours." He watched her carefully, wondering if her expression would change, but she remained a blank to him. He waited, the silence more effective at breaking through his careful resolve than anything said in the previous meeting. His knee began to bounce slightly, and he saw her gaze dip down and note it.  
  
Bringing her attention back to his face, she merely stated, "I believe congratulations are in order."  
  
He blinked, caught off guard by the non sequitur and replied without thinking, "what are you talking about?"  
  
Her eyebrows rose and she slid a copy of the Prophet across her desk to him. Headlining the society page, an announcement of his and Pansy's engagement.  
  
"Ah..."  
  
"Surprising, as had anyone asked me, I would have told them I had it on good authority that you preferred men. And that you had sworn off the whole marrying a pureblood and continuing of the Malfoy family name..."  
  
He glared at her, and his mouth opened before he had the chance to think. "Fuck you, Granger.  _Fuck you._  You will  _not_  call me in here for something about my  _father_  who has  _died_  and then make jabs at me over something you know nothing about. _Do your fucking job_  and don't tell me how wrong I am because I'm helping a friend. Do you know what that is, Granger? Sacrifice? Or do you really just think me incapable of doing something for someone else?" He shut his mouth with a snap as he found himself standing, leaning over Granger, palms planted on her desk. He focused on calming his breathing and straightened. "You don't know me, Granger. You never did, and you never cared to. You wanted to see me about my father. If you have something to say about that, say it. Otherwise, I will... I won't bid you good day, actually. I'll just leave."  
  
Granger simply stared for a moment, then shook her head slightly and pulled her files toward her, covering the copy of the Prophet. "I need your memories of the Thursday your father... died."  
  
"My... What? Why?" He sat back on the chair, frowning in confusion.  
  
"The fact that there are multiple sworn statements from the guards and boatmen of Azkaban swearing you were regularly there has not changed..."  
  
"But the decree--"  
  
"Actually puts you in a bad place." She leaned forward, dropping her voice. "Some in the Auror department are making noise about you both breaking a Ministry decree by going to Azkaban as well as having something to do with--"  
  
"Wait, they think I killed my father?" He stood again, shock making his voice as loud as anger had earlier.  
  
She shook her head and gestured him to silence. "I need your memories, Malfoy, or you may face questioning under veritaserum. There were some... irregularities." Here her expression broke slightly, and he noted she was not always a convincing liar. "They don't think you... killed him."

"What aren't you telling me? What happened to my father?"  
  
"Your father isn't dead. He somehow escaped. The Aurors think you had something to do with it. Now, give me your memories, all of them, for Thursday before I'm fired for revealing this."


	7. Chapter 7

He stared in shock, feeling the blood rush first to then from his head, hearing nothing but the pounding of his heart as his vision started to darken at the edges. When he next opened his eyes, he was greeted with the disorienting sight of the underside of Granger's desk, and the woman herself crouched over him, hair haloing and quill sticking out making her look rather like a demented owl.  "Merlin, Malfoy... Don't  _do_  that." He blinked again and recognized the shocked concern on her face. "You just fell over. I thought I was going to need to floo you to St. Mungo's."  
  
"So sorry, Granger." He sat up, rubbing the back of his head where he felt the remains of an impact. "I shall endeavor to notify you in writing next time." Looking around, he frowned. "Where is my...?"  
  
She glanced down guiltily to where she was still holding his robe, the photograph fallen from the pocket between them. She reached for it, but he was quicker, clasping it to his chest and hissing, "You had _no right_ , Granger. No right." He glanced at the picture and felt the fight leeching from him. He was just so tired of this.  
  
Heaving a sigh, she shook her head, pushing herself back to standing. "I didn't go through your pockets, Draco. The robe caught in the chair and the picture fell out before I even touched it." Her expression sobered, growing nearly as weary as he felt. "He... he is doing well. He... He came for the weekend just last week."  
  
"Oh bloody brilliant, Granger." His laugh was thick with tears as he stared at the photograph, anything to avoid acknowledging he was really breaking down in front of her. "Brilliant. Just what I wanted to hear right now...." Curling his knees up, he focused on breathing. "Thank you. I... I do mean that. I'm glad one of us is...."  
  
She looked uncomfortable again, but nodded. "Why are you marrying Pansy, Draco?" Her voice was quiet, and he startled at hearing his given name.  
  
"I told you. She needs me." Her steady regard pulled the rest from him. "She's pregnant and alone. I can't let her face that. And it's not like I had any other pressing business." His shaky hand raised the photograph and he grimaced.  
  
Granger's expression crumpled before she straightened and took a breath. "I'm going to need the memory, Draco. Please." She knelt down beside him once again, her voice dropping to a whisper. "This entire situation is.... I don't like it. I think they're looking for an excuse to haul you in for questioning or to ship you off to Azkaban. Losing your father is a blow to the Department, one they don't want getting out."  
  
He shook his head, brushing tears from his face. "And one Malfoy is as good as another, is that it?"  
  
"Yes. I'm worried so."  
  
He looked up at her in surprise, not expecting the candid response.  
  
"I want to help you, Draco. You don't deserve this. No one has escaped Azkaban since the war. They're running scared. Your father must have had assistance. Prove that you were not it."  
  
With a shaking head, he raised his wand to his temple, watching Granger's expression break to relief as she hurried to grab a vial.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco arrived back to his flat to find it in chaos. Pansy had arrived sometime during his visit with Granger, and had commandeered Lippy in moving Draco from the master bedroom to the guest room. He shook his head, not feeling up to the fight he knew he would lose anyway, and retreated to his library. On his desk were two envelopes.  
  
He grimaced when he saw the one on top. Heavy parchment. Embossed Malfoy crest. Silver wax seal with an "N" stamped into it. He knew what it contained, and was not looking forward to answering another summons this morning. Pushing it aside, he was surprised at the envelope below it. It was addressed to Pansy, handwriting small and careful in a way that struck him as familiar but he couldn't immediately place.  
  
He cracked the seal after listening a moment to be certain Pansy was still well-occupied. Opening the letter, his eyebrows jumped when he saw the signature. He quickly read.  
  


> Pansy,  
> What is going on? You said you were going to stay with your mother for a couple of weeks and then you just stopped contacting me. Now you're engaged to Draco? Is it the contract? I thought it was cancelled right after Hogwarts. What did I do? Please, Pansy, answer my owls.  
> I love you.  
> Theodore

  
"Oh Pansy, you idiot. What have you done?"  
  
"What are you talking about now?"  
  
Draco's head shot up, and he looked at Pansy in surprise. "You move too quietly in those shoes. Give some warning before you sneak up on me, I don't think I can take any more surprises today. Good afternoon."  
  
"Good afternoon, dear. Are you reading my mail?"  
  
He shrugged. "Of course. It was on my desk. When were you going to tell me you hadn't told Theo he was going to be a father? Or that you were leaving him?"  
  
Her brow furrowed, and he knew she was going to go on the defensive. He held up a hand. "Please, I know what you're going to say. You can come up with whatever excuses you like, I've got to deal with this." He held up the envelope, flipping it so Pansy could see both the embossing and the seal.  
  
She deflated. "I'm sorry, dear. I should have warned you I was going to the Prophet immediately."  
  
"Yes, you should have. There could have been better times, surely. After breaking the news to my mother, or when I'm not getting jumped by Granger at the Ministry about it..."  
  
"Granger? Ministry? What?"  
  
He sighed, leaning against the desk and putting his head in his hands. "She's in the Inquisition Department of DMLE. Handling Father's case. She also knew about...."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Yes, she seemed to take it as a personal affront that I was marrying you and continuing the pureblood Malfoy bloodline."  
  
Pansy's color rose and her voice sharpened at that. "Where does she come off--"  
  
"Can we not do this now? Please? I still need to see my mother and tell her something about this. Us."  
  
She nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry, dearest."  
  
He pocketed the letter and paused beside her. "You need to talk to Theo, Panse. He loves you. He will understand, and he deserves to know."


	9. Chapter 9

He arrived at the Manor with a crack, an elf seemingly waiting for him at the entry. "Master Draco be coming with Tassy. Tassy be taking Master Draco to Mistress. Master Draco be coming with Tassy." The creature backed up, bowing and gesturing him to follow, and did not take her eyes off him until he reached the door of the Blue Parlor. He grimaced in the moment before the door opened, his mother must be in a right strop if she had the elves watching him so overtly.  
  
"Ah, Draco." His mother was seated in a comfortable wingback, tea service at the ready beside her. She smiled, just a shade to the side of warm. "Just in time for tea. You are always so prompt." He followed her gestured direction to the significantly less-comfortable chair beside her. Pleasantries and uncomfortable chairs meant she was annoyed, but he had hope of talking himself back into her good graces. This was the most normal she had been since they received that first bloody owl, and he found himself watching the familiar sight of her preparing tea, clinging to the familiarity.  
  
"Draco!" He blinked and realized he'd been staring at the cup that was now being offered to him. The expression on his mother's face now showed exasperation bleeding to worry. He sat up and cleared his throat, accepting the cup with a nod.  
  
"I apologize, Mother. My attention wandered."  
  
"Unsurprising. Such is often the case when one becomes engaged to marry. Especially so suddenly! I was certain I had just seen you and not a mention." Her tone was bland, and her expression the same. He stifled his grimace, the chances of talking himself out of this were looking more remote. The fact his mother was finally behaving normally was countered by the misery she would be able to inflict on him.  
  
He sat the tea, untouched, on the table and inched forward to the edge of his chair. His mother simply watched. It occurred to him that he had no idea what to say. She knew nothing of the real situation with Pansy, but more importantly she knew nothing of the situation with his father, Granger, and the Ministry. He wanted to pace, to fidget, to climb the walls, to not have to say any of the things that had changed in the previous two days.  
  
"Mother..." he didn't know where to go from there. He clasped his hands tightly before him, inhaled, then released them, rubbing them against his trousers. His mother's expression softened faintly.  
  
"Draco, what has happened?" Her voice was gentle, and he wanted to cry into her lap as he hadn't since he was a child.  
  
"I... Father is alive. He escaped Azkaban. And Pansy is pregnant and told me Theo didn't want it but she didn't tell him."  
  
"What?" She stood and hurried to kneel in front of his chair. "Lucius...?"  
  
Draco nodded. "I just found out. Granger is leading the Inquest. The Ministry thinks I helped him escape. They're saying he died, telling the Aurors I had something to do with it, so no one finds out."  
  
"Oh." Her hand fluttered to cover her mouth, then her eyes. "Oh... Lucius." He reached out gathering her close and letting her cry into his robes. "I thought he was dead..."  
  
"I know, Mother. I know."  
  
~~~  
  
They sat like that for what must have been nearly an hour before both were finished with tears and collected once again. His mother reclaimed her chair, called for fresh tea, and turned to Draco with a serious expression. "None of this explains your situation with Pansy. You cannot come between a father and his child, Draco."  
  
"I know, Mother. She... After the memorial. She told me she was pregnant and Theo didn't care. I wasn't thinking clearly and she took advantage of that." His smile was fond. "I assumed she meant he knew. I didn't know she'd go immediately to the Prophet. She apologizes, by the way."  
  
His mother gave a snort at that. "What are you going to do?"  
  
He shook his head. "I don't know. The announcement is made, Theo didn't even now she was leaving him... He sent an owl. That's how I knew she hadn't told him."  
  
"That was very badly done and unnecessarily cruel." His mother frowned at Draco. "You may need to take matters into your own hands."  
  
"I'm certain I'm the last person Theo wants to see right now."  
  
"Be that as it may. You are neither in love with Pansy, nor she with you. You are not the father of her child. You tried to help a friend, but have made a situation more complicated than you were prepared for. Resolving it, at least seeing that the truth comes out, may fall to you."  
  
"I'm just so tired, Mother. I'm so tired...."  
  
She approached his chair again, but this time gathered him into her arms. "I know. But don't fret. Love will conquer all."  
  
He looked up at her in surprise as the last words echoed in his mind with the words he spoke over the Well. She smiled down at him and ran her fingers lightly over his hair. "Love always conquers all."


	10. Chapter 10

When he left the Manor, he felt confident in a way he hadn't since his 5th year at Hogwarts. He knew what needed to be done, and the certainty that he would be able to do it left him breathing easier than he could remember. Harry was happy with whatever he was doing now. It was selfish to hope the last part of his wish would be ignored. But the Well was giving him the opportunity to help Pansy, Theo, and his father wouldn't leave his mother alone forever. When it was safe, he would find her and they would go somewhere. Maybe France. Maybe somewhere no one knew them, knew their history, knew Lucius was supposed to be dead. Love would conquer, and he was being given the opportunity to help it.  
  
His smile, when he apparated to his flat was genuine. It lasted a moment before he took in the scene before him before falling to shock. Pansy was chasing Lippy around his desk, Lippy holding a letter tightly to her chest. "Panse... What in Merlin's name are you doing to my elf?"  
  
Pansy stopped running and glanced quickly at him, her face filling with color as she straightened her robes around her. Lippy huffed and toddled up to Draco. "Master Draco Sir has a letter, Sir. Lippy is giving Master Draco his letter. Lippy is not giving it to Miss Pansy, not at all!"  
  
He felt his face fall into a smirk as he took the letter, watching Pansy. "Reading my mail, dearest?"  
  
She huffed, covering her embarrassment with rolled eyes and crossed arms. "Please, you were reading mine just this morning."  
  
His smirk slid to a grin as he popped the seal, pulling out the single sheet of parchment inside. "It is my house. Besides, I didn't have to chase the house elf for it."  
  
Lippy nodded repeatedly at that. "Lippy is a good house elf. Lippy knows Master Draco's mail is for Master Draco." She frowned fiercely at Pansy before disappearing with a pop.  
  
"That elf is a menace...." Pansy frowned. "So? What is that, anyway?"  
  
"She's just loyal," Draco answered absently as he flipped open the letter. He swallowed, not reading the words, as the familiar handwriting hit him like a blow.  
  
"Draco?" Pansy reached toward him and placed a hand on his arm, her voice concerned. "Draco? What is it?" She pulled his arm until she could see the letter, then frowned fiercely. "I can't believe him! Who does he think he is writing you like that, especially now when you've got enough on your plate. You aren't going to do this!"  
  
He shook his head and rubbed his eyes before shaking off Pansy's arm and reading the letter.  
  


> Draco,  
> I know you probably don't want to talk to me right now. I mean, I think I'm probably the last person you want to talk to just in general. But it's important. Please come to Grimmauld Place tomorrow evening. I can make dinner or you could come after dinner or anything. I need to talk to you about something. It's important.  
> How are you? I hope you're well.  
> I guess I'll end this here.  
> Harry

  
  
"Never could write a letter, could you Potter?"  
  
"Don't tell me you're actually thinking about going to see that bastard, Draco." Pansy's frown was fierce, but her hand fluttering along his arm betrayed her anxiety. "I won't let you. Not after I saw how he broke your heart."  
  
"It's alright. I need to get over this eventually." He took a breath and pocketed the letter. "I don't know what I'm going to do about this."  
  
"Oh Draco. Be careful."  
  
He squeezed her hand, and cleared his throat. "Speaking of careful, you should be as well. Mother is quite put out at you, you know." Pansy grimaced, but accepted the conversation change with a return squeeze. "Why didn't you tell Theo?"  
  
"What-- You-- She knows?"  
  
"Of course she knows! It was tell her the truth and have her annoyed at you, or lie and have her annoyed at me. And I was there."  
  
"Oh I can't believe you. Couldn't you tell her the baby was yours? A secret torrid affair?"  
  
His eyebrow lifted as he countered, " _Secret torrid affair?_  Mother knows I like cock more than you do. And don't try feeding that story to Theo, he knows it, too. If you don't remember, he was in our class. If I wasn't able to get it up for you third year, do you think he'd believe I would now?"  
  
Pansy's shoulders slumped in defeat. "He's working on his Charms Mastery, you know that."  
  
"I'm working on my Potions Mastery!"  
  
"He never has time for me... for us. I'm just a distraction. I told him I was going to stay with Mother and he just told me to have a nice time. He didn't even look up. He didn't kiss me goodbye!"  
  
Draco sighed and pulled Pansy into a lose embrace. "He loves you. Just read the letter he sent, it's there for anyone to see."  
  
"I can't do anything about it now," she clung to his robes, and he felt the wetness of her tears on his shoulder. "What do I tell him? I felt like you didn't care so proposed to my gay best friend and put a notice in the Prophet?"  
  
He chuckled quietly, "Well, you did."  
  
Pansy pushed him back and slapped his chest, before giggling. "Oh Merlin, I did, didn't I?" He nodded and she sighed. "What do I do?"  
  
"You talk to him. You tell him you love him. You tell him you're having his baby and panicked. Pregnant women do all sorts of crazy things, after all." She slapped his chest again, and he caught her hand. "I can go with you if you'd like."  
  
She sniffed. "Maybe I'll ask to see him tomorrow evening."  
  
He could feel the smile freezing on his face, but took a deep breath and nodded. "Maybe you can ask to see him tomorrow evening."


	11. Chapter 11

Draco spent a great deal of time reading and re-reading the letter. He considered burning it, putting Harry out of his mind as he'd been saying he had for the past year. He considered simply owling back and telling him no. Harry was right, after all. Their parting was sudden, a shock to the system Draco thought he would likely never get over. He wasn't eager to see Harry, to reopen wounds that weren't really healing anyway. In the end, he did nothing, and when Pansy told him Theo had agreed to come to the flat for dinner the next evening, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Pansy was not so sanguine. She sat with Draco in his study well into the evening, going over what-if's and what-should-she-do's until he was ready to pull his wand and stun her. Finally convinced at near midnight to take a Dreamless Sleep, she retired to the master bedroom, leaving him to make his way to the guest room and to sleep. An hour later, he was still lying in the unfamiliar bed and staring at the ceiling.

They had been doing well. He had been so certain of that at the time. Yes, they spent most of their time in Muggle London. That had as much to do with Harry's celebrity and desire for privacy in general as anything to do with the slowly-growing relationship between the two. Harry spent most of his time there or in Grimmauld Place anyway. No, they hadn't gotten around to telling their friends and families, but that was because things were too new, too precious to subject them to the harsh words of others. Granger had found out using her damnable powers of observation, and Pansy had by the Slytherin habit of snooping in his mail. Both had disapproved, begged them to think, to remember their pasts, and both had been denied.

Harry wouldn't have told Granger that he was certain unless he was. His Gryffindor honesty wouldn't allow him to lie to someone he considered a friend.  _Unless it was just to spare your feelings_ , the voice reminded him.  _You were sitting right there_.

Draco rolled over and buried his head under a pillow, but it didn't shut out the thoughts.  _You don't know what Granger said after you left. She was still there, still self-righteous, still a know-it-all. She would do anything to protect her Golden Boy from the evil Slytherin plot you were most certainly hatching. You already know she doesn't think you capable of anything but the most selfish of acts. You saw how surprised she was that you were helping Pansy. She probably thinks you're doing it for future blackmail fodder or something. And surely with all that, she'd not think you deserving of an hour of his time, much less his love._

He rolled back onto his back and shoved the pillow out of his face. He couldn't blame her, not really. He had been horrible in Hogwarts, to her almost as much as to Harry. She had no reason to think differently, or even attempt to learn if he could change. He had watched Harry carefully at times, from the initial offer of a new start with the return of his wand, uncertain why he was deemed worthy of a second chance. It was no surprise to the small circle who knew of their friendship when Harry abruptly left for Romania.

The leaving was abrupt as well. Two days after Granger had spoken to them at Grimmauld, he had returned to find Harry in the midst of packing. He could only stand there, shoulders tense and eyes wide, while he heard all the things one thinks of being said in these situations. “It's not you, it's me” and “just not working out” and “I'll see you around,” and all the other lies that cover... something.

He didn't even know where the lie was. Was it in the repeated “I love you's” whispered in the dark against his back, his chest, his lips? Or was it in the trying to make things work. It was certainly in the promise to see and to be seen. The Prophet and their fawning praise of his bravery was the only reason he knew that Romania was his ultimate destination.  _And shacking up with a Weasley_ , he heard repeated in a voice that sounded like Pansy's. Wouldn't that make them happy? If he's going to suck cock and not make a dozen ginger babies with the Weaselette, at least he's still in the family.

He wasn't certain when his weak laugh turned to tears, but it was a long time before he finally fell asleep and he awoke to a still-wet pillow.


	12. Chapter 12

The tension in Draco's flat increased as the day progressed, beginning simply at uncomfortable and reaching unbearable somewhere near tea. He was exhausted. His head was pounding, his eyes aching, and his chest tight. His sleep the night before had been brief and restless, and he wanted nothing more than to return to his room, lock the door, and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist. Pansy seemed worse off, and he repeatedly cursed himself, their years of friendship, and that bloody Well for the sense of responsibility he felt toward her.  
  
Responsibility or not, tea saw him at the end of his rope. Pansy had been stirring her cup constantly for the past five minutes, and the sound of the spoon against the porcelain finally broke the silence that had held since breakfast.  
  
"If you don't put that spoon down and drink the blasted tea, you're going to be wearing it."  
  
Pansy straightened and glared at him, but more importantly, she rested the spoon on the saucer. "Fine friend you are. What happened to you being my friend and helping me with this?"  
  
"I'd like to know what you call helping if letting you stay in my flat, steal my room, and fixing the mess you made of yourself doesn't apply." His gaze was cold, but he welcomed the opportunity to break the silence, to start an argument that would distract him from his own thoughts.  
  
Sadly, Pansy must have caught something in his expression, for her face twisted in a sneer and she turned the conversation to him, her words slicing like ice. "Yes, because you know all about making messes of yourself. Falling in with the Savior of the Wizarding World, answering his beck and call like a well-trained crup even now. I set up this meeting with Theo tonight as much for your sake as you say it's for mine. You promised to be here for me, and I'm holding you to that. I think that makes us even."  
  
He leaned forward, ignoring his worry about the truth of her words to strike back in same. "I am not a well-trained crup. I had every intention of being here for you this evening regardless, and I had no plans on meeting him tonight anyway. So don't play at being altruistic. You've said yourself that it's beyond you."  
  
"No plans on meeting him tonight? I know you, Draco. How long have you spent staring at that letter? You still have it now, I've watched you reach into your pocket over and over again today." She stood and loomed over him. "It's been the same since Hogwarts. Everything you do is for him or to get his attention. You would do anything for either. So don't try and convince either of us that you weren't going to show up on his doorstep in time for dinner like a good little lovesick fool."  
  
He felt his back and shoulders straighten, his expression controlled, the Malfoy mask perfect in a way he hadn't managed in weeks. The hollow feeling in his gut told him he would pay for this conversation later, but he clung to his control and the tight iciness of his voice. "If you are quite finished with your histrionics, I think it best if you return to your room until dinner as you are obviously distraught. Please feel free to summon Lippy if you should need anything. Good afternoon."  
  
After a brief flash of regret, Pansy schooled her own features. "Of course, good afternoon." He followed her from the room, retreating to the study and closing the door behind him with a quiet click. He sat staring blankly at his desk until Lippy arrived, her expression anxious, to remind him it was time to change for dinner.


	13. Chapter 13

Seven o'clock struck and found Draco and Pansy silent in sitting room. They had been sitting there, each focused on their own thoughts as Lippy anxiously offered tea, wine and fruit in an effort to break the leaden silence. Then the door chimed and everyone moved at once, as if the room itself released the breath it was holding. Lippy popped away, and Pansy and Draco looked to the door, waiting.

“Draco, I'm sorry.” Pansy murmured quickly. He glanced toward her warily and her hands fidgeted uselessly at her robe. “For everything. You're right, and I had no place saying those things, especially when you have been trying to help me.” He gave a slight nod before the door opened and Theo's entrance cut off any further conversation.

Theo looked... not well. He had always been thin, but now he appeared stressed and lank in a way Draco felt echo in his own bones. Draco approached, his hand out, and led him into the room, stopping at the couch where Pansy was still sitting. Her expression was pained and her gaze seemed locked on her knees. Draco all but turned and shoved Theo into the seat beside her.

“Thank you for accepting this invitation. We obviously have much to discuss, but I believe Pansy has some things to tell you first.” Draco watched her hands tighten in her robe and gave her a faint but genuine smile when she looked up at him. Theo simply looked between the two of them, his face painfully open in it's confusion. Draco simply stepped back, two steps, enough to give them the illusion of privacy while still providing Pansy the promised support.

She looked to Theo, and her eyes filled with tears. “I'm so sorry. I should have told you but I was scared.”

“Scared, of what?” Theo's voice was ragged. “You could tell me anything. I thought you knew that! I love you. I thought....”

“I... I thought I was in the way.” Theo grabbed her hands in a frantic grip and she held on just as tightly. “I had just found out....”

Theo's attention wavered briefly to where Draco was standing, staring at the swirls of the rug and trying to pretend he wasn't witnessing his friends' pain. “It's the betrothal, then?” His voice sounded weary and hopeless.

“No, no. I... It has nothing to do with Draco, except he was there when I went a bit mad.”

“Then what is it? What did I do? Why did you leave me, and why didn't you  _tell_  me anything first?”

Pansy looked to Draco, who gave what he hoped was an encouraging nod. She had Theo's hands in a death grip, he could tell by the whiteness of both sets of knuckles. “I'm pregnant. I'm sorry. I panicked, I thought we were in the way and you wouldn't want me... us.”

Theo erupted from the couch and stared down at Pansy, his face a mask of shock. “Pregnant? You didn't tell me? You got pregnant and thought getting engaged to Draco was a better option?”

“Theo--”

“No--” Draco and Pansy spoke at the same time and he looked between them, tears beginning to run down his face. Pansy continued, “I wasn't thinking clearly. You're finishing up your Mastery, and you're always so busy.... I thought it was for the best. I only thought about it being visible and... I knew that Draco would help me. He didn't know I hadn't told you. He didn't even have the chance to tell his mother before I notified the Prophet. I think she's going to murder me as soon as the baby is born.” Her hesitant smile begged Theo to return it at her weak joke.

“How--” he cleared his throat when his voice broke. “How long?”

“About three months, I think.”

Theo nodded before collapsing back beside Pansy. She leaned over him, holding him as he cried. Draco broke in, “Tomorrow, I'll be sending an owl to the Prophet, informing them that they've obviously been the victim of a prank. Panse and I are friends, but have no interest in getting married as she is quite happily in love with Theodore Nott.”

The looked up at him and shook his head. “Tell them it was made a mistake on the name. It should be announcing the engagement of Pansy Parkinson to Theodore Nott instead.”

Pansy started bawling and Draco beat a hasty retreat, shutting the door behind him with a sigh. It was done. He had fixed Pansy's relationship and she could go off and be blissfully happy with her Theo and her baby and her engagement. He was happy for her, he was. He was also blindingly jealous, so very tired of being alone, of pining after someone who he had never been good enough for. Pansy had been correct, he spent a large part of his childhood trying to get Harry's attention. When they had become friends, it should have been enough for him. When they became lovers, those brief weeks, he should have known it would never last. He had never been good enough for Harry and Harry had never really wanted him.

Except now... He fingered the letter that was still in his pocket. Harry,  _Potter_  evidently did want him. For something. To talk. Draco could go. He could get answers, ask him why. Or he could be told the same lies and simply punch him in his lying face. Either held the opportunity for closure. Before he could tell himself all the reasons why seeing Potter again was a bad idea, he turned with a pop, appearing on the still-familiar doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place. He rang the bell and pulled himself straight, clinging tightly to the Malfoy mask, remembering how Potter had always hated it.

The door opened with a creak, and bright green eyes in a relieved face shone out at him. “Draco... You came.”


	14. Chapter 14

Draco stared for a moment, taking in all the changes to Harry's appearance over the past year. He looked good, tanned and strong. Happy. Romania clearly agreed with him, more than England and Draco had, clearly. “I nearly didn't.” His voice, he was pleased to note, was as cold and controlled as the rest of him. He could do this.

Harry's face fell slightly, and the familiar awkward shuffle in the doorway was another twist in his chest. “Oh... uh.”

“Are you going to invite me in,  _Potter_? Or is whatever you have to say something you want to cover on your front stoop? And if that's the case, I'd prefer to leave now and you can simply owl me.”

Harry's jaw tightened, that familiar stubborn expression he wore constantly at Hogwarts, but he gave a brief nod before opening the door enough for Draco to enter. “Please come in.” And there, the frustrated rasp behind his words. Draco clung to it as a lifeline; if he could continue to keep Potter off-guard, he could hide how unbalanced he felt being here again.

Glancing around, he noted that the entry had the look of a home well lived in, the clutter that followed Potter everywhere was very much present. He told himself it was messy, not homey, and raised an eyebrow at the pile of trainers by the bench. “I see your house elf still can't keep up.” He turned to gauge the reaction to his carefully chosen tone.

He was surprised by the unreadable look he was receiving. Potter looked exasperated, yes, but also something else he couldn't place. The silence stretched a moment, and Draco was determined to not break it. He was not the one who had requested this meeting.

“I'm sorry, Draco.” Potter's face was earnest, and Draco pulled himself more tightly together, his face moving from the careful bland disdain he had been maintaining to anger as his control unraveled.

“Sorry? You're  _sorry_? What could the  _Savior of the Wizarding World_  have to be sorry about? For fucking vanishing a year ago? Dicking off to Romania and shacking up with a Weasley? Only telling me because I happened to come over and see you packing?”

“Draco--” Harry's expression was slowly transforming from contrite earnestness to frustrated anger.

“No,  _no_  Potter. You have  _nothing_  to be sorry about. What is a former Death Eater in the balance? Nothing of import, clearly. Nothing worth the  _simple human decency_  of telling if you were planning on leaving.” Draco stalked forward, shoving Harry backwards. “So if that's the important thing you wanted to tell me in person, then save it.” He hissed the final words directly into Potter's face.

“Are you finished?” Draco could hear Harry clinging to patience and control and longed to push harder, to hurt like he had been hurt.

“Yes, Potter, I am quite finished. Good evening.” He turned but a hand on his arm stopped him before he moved away. “What?”

“Draco...” Potter's voice was calmer, though his grip was perhaps stronger than it needed to be. He gave a tug. “Draco, look at me.” He allowed himself to be turned, but stared at the wall over Potter's shoulder. “Draco, I  _am_ sorry, and I would like to talk to you more about this. What I did was inexcusable, but that's not the important thing I needed to discuss.”

“What do you want? Just tell me and let me go.” He felt like he was surrounded by Harry, and his anger bled away. The smell, the touch, the heat left only pain in it's wake. Harry's grip lightened, his thumb gently rubbing in the way that always calmed him. “Please, Harry. Don't. Not again. I can't do this again.”

Harry gave his arm another gentle squeeze, but nodded. “Please come into the study.”

Draco nodded and made the familiar trip to the door across the hall. Harry opened the door and stepped aside for him to enter first. He was not looking up, and the voice that greeted him when he entered made him stumble. “Draco...” He stared in shock at his father, sitting in a wingback chair before the burning fire. He didn't hear the door close behind him, as Harry left the two alone in the study.


	15. Chapter 15

Draco rushed toward the fire and pulled his father into a tight embrace, collapsing onto the floor at his feet. He hadn't seen him since he was sentenced to Azkaban 4 years ago. He was thin, the skin of his face and hands wrinkled, his hair shorn. His eyes, however, were still sharp, and his bearing upright. “I don't understand.... How...?”

“Ah, yes. I was... liberated from Azkaban by Mr. Potter a couple of weeks ago. I wished to inform you, but decided it better to wait until I was more fit for company.” He placed a faintly trembling hand on Draco's head. “I did not wish to leave you and your mother grieving...”

Draco tilted his head into the touch. “Granger is in charge of the Inquest. She told me earlier this week. I told Mother.”

Lucius let out a breath and smiled faintly. “How is Narcissa?”

He sniffed and smiled. “Well. Very well, now. Waiting for you.”

Lucius' smile grew in reply. “Soon. I am only awaiting the Portkey to come through...”

Draco nodded, his expression falling slightly at the thought of losing his father again so soon. “I expected as much. Where will you be going?”

“Italy. It's not anywhere we have land so not anywhere the Ministry would look for me. But it is also such that it would not be amiss for Narcissa to visit frequently.”

A few moments passed in silence before Draco pushed himself up from the floor and moved to the other chair at the fireplace. “I still don't understand. Why did...  _How_  did Harry get you out of Azkaban?”

“I believe that part is best explained by Mr. Potter. Kreacher!” The elderly elf popped into the space between them with a deep bow toward Lucius. “Please ask Mr. Potter to come to the study and speak with us.” A moment later there was a perfunctory knock and Harry re-entered the study. Draco stared at him in confusion.

Harry glanced between Lucius and Draco, awkward again. “Er, did you need something, Mr. Malfoy?”

Lucius' face took on a smirk as he pushed himself slowly up from his chair. “Only that Draco has questions I feel it best  _you_  answer, Mr. Potter. If you would both excuse me, I would like to make use of your owl.”

Draco watched his father make his way slowly to the study door, leaning heavily on a plain black cane. He leaned over and murmured something to Harry that caused him to flush before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

“You wanted something, Malfoy?” Harry's expression was tightly controlled, and his hands bunched into fists in his pockets. Draco couldn't tell if it was because he wanted to punch him or grab him.

“I just... Why?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and stepped to the chair recently vacated by Lucius. “Er, well... It's kinda a long story.”

Draco clasped his hands tightly together, staring at them to avoid staring at Harry's face highlighted by the fire. “Well, my flat is currently site of the happy reunion between Pansy and Theo and I have no desire to walk in on them doing anything, so my evening is yours.” He grimaced slightly as his words came out in a rush. He sounded like a first year, so bloody eager.

Harry looked confused for a moment before nodding. “Right. Well. I remember what you used to say. About not being able to see your father, him not allowed visitors. And, well, Ron's partner's wife's brother is Warden. So, I asked about getting him visits... bypassing the Ministry, I mean.”

Draco frowned, “You got permission for visits? And you didn't tell me?”

Harry shifted in his seat. “I didn't. I didn't get permission. I was going to tell you, but... I... did it anyway.”

“What?”

“I visited Lucius. I had been talking to McAllister for a couple months. It was after I went to Romania he finally said no. I thought Lucius would be happier getting visits from you so I used polyjuice.”

“Polyjuice? How did you--”

“Your hairbrush. And a couple of your shirts. I... They got mixed in with my things.” Harry's face was flushed enough it was a wonder he was still upright, and he kept his focus firmly on the fire. “Well, obviously it didn't work. Lucius could tell the difference, but... we talked. A lot. I went every few weeks. But he was getting sick, and they weren't doing anything, so...”

Draco stood and started pacing. “So you disguised yourself as me and what? Confunded the guards so they'd  _forget_  I wasn't supposed to set foot on Azkaban? And then you visit my father every couple of weeks. You don't tell me, and then you somehow remove him from Azkaban and leave the Aurors thinking  _I'm_  responsible for his disappearance?” His hands jerked agitatedly, and he could feel tears beginning to seep down his face. “Why? I've spent hours in Granger's office, I've had to turn over all my memories of the day my father disappeared. She's trying to keep the Aurors from arresting me for murder. Do you really hate me that much?”

“No! Draco, no! I didn't mean-- I  _love_  you.”

Draco stopped and looked at Harry, his voice falling flat. “You love me. After all this, everything, you can still say that? You leave me without a word to go to Romania, you almost get me arrested. I can't. When you left, it... I can't do this again. I'm sorry.”


	16. Chapter 16

Harry stood and approached Draco, his hand outstretched as if he were facing an angry hippogryph. Soon enough, his hand was back on Draco's arm, thumb rubbing in that maddening way that made the tears come faster. "I'm sorry, Draco. I'm so sorry. I didn't think"  
  
"Why?" Draco pulled out of the loose grasp with a jerk. "Why did you leave? You said you loved me. I thought... I thought we were fine."  
  
Harry let Draco go and moved back slightly, out of his immediate space. He rubbed his hand through his hair with a grimace. "I... I don't know what to say. We were." He moved back to the fire and stared into it. "We were. And then Hermione found out. You always said you didn't want people to know--"  
  
"So did you!"  
  
Harry turned, his expression frustrated, "And she said some things that made sense. About secrets. We couldn't have a real relationship if we were hiding from everyone, Draco, you  _know_  that. We were always hiding in Muggle London, hiding from our friends, our family, the Prophet... I was tired of hiding."  
  
"So instead of discussing it, you ran off to Romania?"  
  
"I wasn't intending to stay there..." Harry's voice raised, frustration obvious. "I was planning on going for a couple weeks, just to think. I just needed some space to think about relationships and my future in general. And--"  
  
"And you fell for the dragon tamer’s charms. Which made your family very happy."  
  
Harry shook his head. "I don't know why you're obsessed with the thought of me and Charlie together."  
  
"I read the Prophet! It was the only thing that told me where you had gone off to. Complete with pictures of the two of you snogging in the street!"  
  
Harry looked confused. "I've only kissed Charlie once. It was a couple years ago, when I was in Romania right after the war."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It. Was. Years. Ago. Charlie is a friend, and a little to close to a brother to do... that."  
  
Draco felt himself deflate slightly, as the anger that was holding him together started to fade. He just felt tired. "Then why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you owl? Why feed me that shite about..." Draco took a deep breath and looked up at Harry. "Why did you leave me?"  
  
Harry collapsed into the chair, his voice quiet and rough. "I needed to think. I thought... It wasn't fair to you to leave you waiting for me and my issues. I wanted you to be able to move on."  
  
"Move on? What kind of thrice-damned idiot are you? I loved you! Did you think I would get over you and hop into someone else's bed in a week? Maybe a month? You said you weren't planning to stay, did you think I couldn't wait?”

“I didn't think—”

“First smart thing you've said tonight.”

“I didn't think it would take this long. But I didn't know. I couldn't be in a relationship with someone when I'm trying to figure myself out.”

“No.” Draco sighed and wiped his cheeks. “No, you're correct. You can't.” The silence stretched, broken only by the occasional pop of the fire. “Hermione wasn't the only one who knew.” Harry looked up at him, his expression as tired as Draco's. “Pansy found out as well. She told me it wouldn't work, but I told her I didn't care. Because you were worth it. I thought we were worth it.” His face twisted into a grimace of a smile. “Hermione obviously still does your thinking for you, it seems. Or I was wrong, and what is worth it for me isn't for you.... Pansy's been terribly generous withholding the 'I told you so's.”

“Draco, I'm sorry.”

“So am I. Thank you for helping my father.”

Harry gave a faint nod. “I'll talk to Hermione, once he's gone. I'll get the Auror squad off your back.”

“That would be appreciated. If you don't mind, these past few weeks have been exhausting. I'd like to say good evening to my father and go home.”

He had made it to the door before the sound of Harry's voice stopped him. “Draco, wait.” He turned to see Harry standing in front of the chair. “I do still love you. I never stopped. I'd... I'd like to try again. In the open. No secrets this time.”

Draco froze. It was what he'd spent the past year desperately wanting to hear. “I... I don't know. I... You... I don't know if I can do this again, not expect you to leave me.”

Harry nodded faintly. “I deserve that. But please, think about it?”

Draco bit his lip, but gave a faint nod. “I'll think about it. Good night, Harry.”


	17. Chapter 17

Draco received two owls from Harry over the next two weeks. The first was unsigned and from a post owl, though he recognized the handwriting, and contained nothing but a floo address. He didn't reply, but wasted no time in memorizing the address and sharing the note with his mother. The second arrived two days later, delivered by Harry's familiar barn owl, and couched itself as a simple note about a friendly meeting he'd had with Granger. He was uncertain how to respond. He considered a simple thank you, but decided he'd thanked Harry enough. He considered replying with something insulting, but didn't really have the energy or desire to fight. He thought briefly about telling Harry that all was forgiven, but it left a hollow feeling in his chest, remembered pain that had never really gone away over the past year. In the end, he sent nothing.  
  
The next week, the Ministry turned over his father's body, or at least a sealed and weighted casket. It was interred with all solemnity in the family vault, attended only by himself, his mother, Pansy and Theo. The next day, his mother retreated to the Continent in her grief, taking residence with an old school friend who had coincidentally also just lost his wife in picturesque Northern Italy, where she wouldn't face reminders of her life with Lucius. He received a standing invitation to spend a weekend there with her any time he wished.  
  
Draco's life returned to it's old routine, though Pansy seemed to feel that he had spent too much time on his own the previous year and took over many of the demands on his time that had been held by his mother. She had been irate when he came down for breakfast the morning after her reunion with Theo, and had yelled at him for nearly an hour, calling him a hopeless fool for running back to Potter. He let her, she was correct after all, because he was unable to tell her anything about what Harry had done for his father. She had ended her tirade with tears and hugs, and had been keeping a close eye on him since.  
  
All in all, his life felt much the same as it had before the supposed death of his father. He saw his father more, but his mother less. He spent the majority of his attention on steaming and bubbling cauldrons in France. He was worried and fluttered at by Pansy. He still thought of Harry, with the same familiar twist in his chest that left him feeling either blank and dead, or ready to lose himself to anger or tears. Everything about his life felt like waiting, but he was uncertain for what.

  
***

  
Pansy's wedding was swiftly approaching. She was resigned to the fact that she would not be able to marry before she began to show, but she was convinced she could do so before she became nothing but a small head atop a set of voluminous maternity robes. Draco had been enlisted to act as her shopping companion, guest list organizer, and flower arranger. He threw himself into the activity, and between running errands for Pansy and his work toward his Mastery, he found he had little time for anything beyond exhaustion when he collapsed into his bed late at night, only to awaken to more of the same the next morning. He knew he wouldn't be able to maintain the pace forever, his work was already beginning to suffer. He told himself he enjoyed it, enjoyed being busy and needed, and squashed the small feeling of guilt for not sparing a moment to consider Harry's offer has he'd promised.  
  
Pansy was both a blessing and a curse. He found himself wanting to hex her on multiple occasions for her indecisiveness, and wanting to kiss her just moments later for keeping him too busy to think. The leaning moved firmly into the hex category, however, when two weeks out, she began pestering him about his plus-one.  
  
"But, darling, Blaise is only going to be in London another month or two. And he's single again, and coming anyway, so you don't need to redo the seating or food arrangements. It's perfect."  
  
He grimaced, "A month or two is hardly--"  
  
"I'm not saying you should have a  _relationship_! Eighth year was a disaster. But let him take you to the wedding, out to dinner, let him shag you for old times' sake. You need to move on from this Potter-obsession."  
  
Draco fingered his wand, reminding himself he could not hex his pregnant best friend and simply replied, "As you stated so eloquently, eighth year was a disaster. I had my fill of Blaise then and have no desire to... reacquaint myself."  
  
Pansy pouted but did not seem willing to let the matter rest. "Fine. But if not Blaise, let me set you up with someone. Mother's cousin has a son, he went to Beauxbaton, graduated just a couple years ahead--"  
  
"I'll think about it." Draco knew she would keep pressing unless he gave her that much, but he knew his answer already.  
  
She simply looked stubborn, as if she knew what he was planning, but let the matter drop. "Fine. Oh, Draco? Be a dear and go to Diagon Alley and tell the florist I changed my mind. I'd like red tulips instead of roses."  
  
He stifled a grimace and rose from his seat, leaning across and kissing her cheek. "Of course."  
  
He reminded himself he couldn't hex her as he made his way from the apparition point through the crowds to the florist. Pushing open the door with a quiet jingle, he paused at the familiar head of black hair at the counter. Harry glanced back at him standing in the doorway and gave a small smile. "Draco. Good morning."  
  
Draco stepped fully into the shop and gave Harry a stiff nod in return. "Good morning."


	18. Chapter 18

The clerk at the shop frowned when he saw Draco enter, though Draco was pleased that the expression was earned by his own merits, or rather Pansy's indecisiveness. "Pardon, Mr. Potter. Yes, Mr. Malfoy? What does she want this time? Topiary erumpets?"  
  
Draco laughed briefly in spite of himself. "I'll not tell her anything about that lest she think it an option. Just back to tulips again."  
  
The clerk sighed and rolled his eyes, pulling out a scroll and waving his wand briefly. "Very well. But this is the last time, I simply won't have the opportunity to provide for her changes beyond this point."  
  
Draco nodded, "Thank you. I'll tell her she's getting tulips or gathering her own flowers from the Forbidden Forest. Good day, sir, Potter. Sorry to interrupt."  
  
"Draco, wait! Maybe you can help me..."  
  
He glanced back from Potter, who was staring at him with that damned eager puppy expression, to the florist who looked quite annoyed.  
  
Clearing his throat, the clerk spoke up. "I'm certain any questions you have can be answered--"  
  
Harry simply flapped his hand, causing him to quiet with a frown. "Please?"  
  
"What do you need?"  
  
Harry's grin lit his face and he walked quickly over to Draco and dragged him back to the counter. "I need flowers that say 'I've been an ass and I'm sorry' with some 'please forgive me' and 'I love you so please let's try this again' thrown in for good measure."  
  
The clerk's eyebrows were somewhere approaching his hairline, and Draco could see the Prophet headlines tomorrow after he'd owled this story off, so he swallowed his grimace and played dumb. "Well, carnations and roses tend to be the flowers used to express love, if that's what you're wanting... though the specifics change based on the color." Harry gave a nod so Draco sighed and continued. "Rue symbolizes regret, though sweet briar would be more an apology for causing a harm that has not yet healed." Harry bit his lip but said nothing. "Narcissus then, for the last. Please love me back."  
  
Harry turned to the clerk. "Can you do that, then? Red roses, sweet briar and narcissus? Red roses mean love, right?"  
  
"Yes..." The clerk nodded at Harry, his gaze predatory and his smile like a shark. "Now, how big a declaration are you wanting to make?"  
  
Harry's eyes flickered briefly in Draco's direction as he replied "A large one. Very large."  
  
"Excellent! I can have it ready for you this afternoon. Thanks to Miss Parkinson, I have a large number of red roses in stasis right now." Draco could see him mentally tallying the money he could make from Potter in addition to the fee he'd extract from the Prophet for selling this story.  
  
"Brilliant!" Harry turned to Draco. "It was lucky we ran into each other. Want to go get an early lunch or something? My treat to say thank you for the help?"  
  
Draco glanced uncomfortably between Harry and the clerk, but was confident he was not putting the pieces together. "I would like that, thank you."  
  
The smile Harry turned on Draco this time was blinding and he led Draco through Diagon Alley and back to the Leaky.  
  


***

  
"You know he's already sent an owl off to the Prophet with the big story of Harry Potter's Romance, don't you?" Draco kept his gaze on his half-eaten ploughman's and firmly off the man seated across from him. It was still early enough that the Leaky wasn't terribly crowded, though the customers were paying as much attention to their table as to their own mugs.  
  
"Hmm? Oh you mean the florist? I don't care, I told you I'm tired of keeping secrets."  
  
"The Prophet is going to be printing stories tomorrow about you getting back together with Weasley."  
  
Harry's gaze pulled his attention upward. "I'd rather tell them the truth, but thought it might be a bit presumptuous without your say-so." He broke into a grin. "Besides, I can't be getting back with Charlie, he moved on long ago."  
  
"The Weaselette, then." Draco looked back down at his plate, finally picking up a slice of cheese. "I doubt they're terribly picky."  
  
Harry laughed. "And nothing says 'I've been an ass' like dumping you for your brother?"  
  
"No, just dumping you."  
  
Harry's laugh stopped abruptly. "Draco, I--"  
  
"I know. I'm sorry to keep pushing it. What's done is done..." Draco put the cheese back on his plate uneaten.  
  
"Have you thought at all? About what I said?"  
  
"I'm sorry. Between Pansy's errands and my training, I barely know what day it is." Draco glanced back up at Harry. "And now she's started trying to set me up with some cousin of hers..."  
  
"I just want a chance." Harry's jaw was tight and his shoulders tense. Draco suppressed a grin at striking a nerve.  
  
"Yes, well. I suppose that will depend on how sorry the florist thinks you are, then." He grinned and ducked the grape Harry threw across the table at him.

***

  
It was nearly teatime when Draco made it back to Pansy. "Where have you been? I have been going mad here without you. Was there a problem with the florist?"  
  
Draco smirked as he noted the teacup she likely was considering throwing at him. It felt good to get some of his own back. "No, no problem, I just met someone there who wanted to take me to lunch."  
  
Pansy's voice was flat. "You found someone who took you to lunch. At the florist. You."  
  
He frowned, "You needn't sound so surprised. You were just saying I needed to get out more. Oh, the florist says you're getting tulips. If you change your mind again, you're doing your own picking and arranging." He walked to the tray and began pouring himself some tea.  
  
She leaned back into the chair with a huff. "Blasted man. Why does he have to be the best?" She turned her gaze to Draco and smirked. "So... lunch? Was your lunch attractive, at least? You don't look like you got up to anything interesting."  
  
"It was just lunch," he returned quietly. "I don't know that I'm ready for more as yet."  
  
"Oh Draco, I'm sorry." She set her cup down and walked over to where he was still standing. "I just worry for you. I'll tell you what, bring him as your plus-one and I'll say nothing more about it." She wrapped her arms around him and he leaned into her embrace.  
  
"I might do that."


	19. Chapter 19

Draco wasn't surprised the next morning when he awoke to see Lippy bringing a just-this-side of garishly large rose, sweetbrier and narcissus bouquet into his bedroom with his normal breakfast. It didn't contain a note, which also didn't surprise him. Harry seemed fairly paranoid of Draco's privacy, and delivery instructions without a name attached would protect that. What did surprise him was the Prophet, specifically that no mention was made on the front page or otherwise of Harry's purchase. Harry must have leaned fairly heavily on the florist, the Prophet or both to keep such a juicy tidbit out of the public eye. He was uncertain what impressed him more, the very expensive apology or the likely ruthless squashing of the rumor mill before it even had a chance to get started. Either way, a note was called for, so he set aside his toast and called for the elf to bring him parchment and a quill.  
  


> Harry,  
> Apparently the florist thought you were quite sorry indeed and "I'm an ass" necessitates a bouquet the size of a small house. Either way, thank you. It is lovely, which it should be as I picked it out myself. (Has anyone ever told you it's poor form to make someone choose their own gift? If they have, ignore them, I have much better taste than you.)
> 
> I'm also impressed that there was no peep in today's Prophet. Are they biding their time or did you manage to get the story squashed? On the whole, very Slytherin of you.
> 
> Draco  
> P.S. There was something I wanted to discuss with you, if you have the opportunity. Could we meet again for lunch sometime?

  
  
Draco quickly sealed the parchment and gave it to Lippy before he lost his nerve and vanished the post script. Pansy had told him to bring yesterday's lunch companion to the wedding after all.  
  


***

  
  
Harry was apparently in Romania for the weekend, and with Draco's apprenticeship, it was the next Friday before they managed to find time to have lunch. In their owls back and forth, Draco had been tempted to just move to dinner instead, but felt that might imply something he wasn't ready for. He didn't want to give the impression to Pansy or Harry that this was the start, or restart of a relationship. He kept his dinnertime free to spend with Pansy, ignoring her complaints that he should be shagging this mystery bloke and providing her with gossip fodder, and evaded her questions with reminders that she was an old pregnant woman getting married in just over a week. That was usually enough to send her into a panic of list-making and if it involved him bearing the brunt of her frenzy, it was still easier than answering her questions.  
  
But Friday arrived, and Pansy sent him on his way by ten o'clock saying his nerves were driving her mad. He found himself with nothing to do for two hours besides pace his flat and question whether or not he was wanting to do this. For all he had avoided thinking about Harry, about rekindling their relationship, he now had nothing to do but think of it. And, in truth he didn't know what he wanted. He loved Harry, and he believed Harry loved him... But he had believed that a year ago and Harry had still left. If what Harry said was true, he'd loved Draco even then, but he had still done that anyway, what assurance did he have that this time was truly different?  
  
He needed to make a decision. He needed to either end things entirely, in hopes that he'd eventually be able to move on, or let Harry off the hook. Avoiding the question was not fair to either of them. He'd written to Harry originally planning to simply invite him to Pansy's wedding, but he knew he couldn't do that if he wasn't going to give him the chance he'd asked for. And now he had less than thirty minutes to make a decision before he met Harry at the Leaky. He was afraid, and wished his mother was here to tell him what to do.


	20. Chapter 20

The chime of the mantle clock ringing noon startled Draco from his staring into the flames. He hadn't made a decision, and he simply sat for a moment, debating remaining there and not going to the Leaky at all. He knew he couldn't do that, it was too similar to discovering one's lover was moving to Romania by walking in on him packing. The temptation was there, however, and he grimaced at the sudden burst of understanding sympathy he had for Harry taking what he felt was the easy way out. However, he still found himself staring at the clock, watching the minute hand tick two, three, four minutes after the hour before he pushed himself up and snagged a handful of powder for the floo.  
  
Unlike their previous Friday at the Leaky, this time it was full to bursting with witches and wizards, many wearing Ministry seals on their robes, eating and drinking and laughing and talking. He was surrounded by the usual lull in conversation as those nearest the fire noted his appearance, frowning at him, before obviously turning away to ignore his presence. It spread through the main room like a wave, and caught Harry's attention where he had been fidgeting with a mug at a table in the corner. His face lit up in relief and he waved, and Draco's stomach twisted in nerves even as he returned the smile in spite of himself.  
  
He picked his way across the room, holding his robes close in case any of the glares decided to follow up with accidental spills or hexes. Taking the seat across from Harry, he offered a faint smile. "Rather courageous, even for a Gryffindor, taking lunch at the Leaky with a former Death Eater in the midst of the Ministry lunch rush. This can't be good for your reputation." His words were slightly above normal level, and the witches at the next table who had been glaring at him quite openly flushed and busied themselves with their plates when Harry turned to level his own glare at them.  
  
"I don't care. I believe I'm quite capable of choosing who I have lunch with." Harry turned his attention to Draco, the intensity making him squirm slightly. "As I think I've said before, making things secret just make them something you can't live with."  
  
Draco gave a faint nod, but was relieved when two bowls of stew were levitated onto the table between them, and avoided responding. He quickly took a bite of the too-hot stew and hissed at the burn to his tongue. Harry snickered quietly and twitched his wand, causing the sound of conversation around them to move to a faint buzz. "Muffliato, Potter? I thought you were living out in the open without secrets."  
  
"Just because I am doesn't mean everyone is..." Harry grinned at Draco and took a bite of his own stew. "Besides, there's a difference between keeping secrets and making sure random passersby are minding their own business."  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry over his spoon. "And sitting down to lunch in the middle of the most crowded pub on Diagon Alley in the middle of the Ministry lunch hour with a Muffliato up _isn't_  the type of thing that just screams 'I have a secret'? Even ignoring the fact that the people eating together are the most loved and most hated men of our generation, you  _can't_  be that dim." He let his spoon drop back into the bowl, and took a breath to try and calm the frustration leaking into his voice. When he continued, he sounded tired instead. "You have to know this won't work, not in the long term. They hate me just as much as they love you."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Everyone! If you so much as smiled at me right now, the people watching and the people pretending to not be watching would have me at wand point checking you for Imperius before you could blink. Your Weasley's all hate me, your Gryffindor friends all hate me. The entirety of Wizarding Britain hates me. They are never going to forget the war, or that I was marked. They will never forgive you for tarnishing yourself with me."  
  
Harry simply sat in silence a moment, watching Draco with a sad expression. "Is that your answer, then? You love me too much to  _tarnish_  me with your presence? Is that really what you think of me? Of us?"  
  
"Yes-- No-- I don't know. You don't know, Harry. You don't know what it's like. Nobody forgets, or forgives. I love you, but I don't want you facing the kind of shite I know you will if you try to take this thing out in the open."  
  
Harry leaned forward over the table, his stew forgotten. "Why are you still here then? I know you're training in France, and your mother left... Why stay?"  
  
He shook his head. "This is my home. I would train in England if I could find a Potion's Master willing to take someone with the Mark. I can't leave--"  
  
"So you're willing to fight to stay in England but not willing to fight to stay with me?" Harry's eyes were full of challenge.  
  
"I don't know! I'm scared. I'm scared that they'll hate me even more, hate you, and we'll fuck this thing up again anyway. That I'll have to leave. That you'll leave me again and I'll be alone. I don't know what to do."  
  
Harry's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, forcing Draco to quiet his breathing to hear. "Draco, you can't predict the future with this. But you can't continue to live based on fear of other peoples' reactions. You told Pansy we were worth it, and you care about her. You can't let people you don't even know have control over your decisions like that. You're not hurting them, for Merlin sakes. And... I took your choice away last year when I left without telling you what I was thinking. Please, I know it's a lot to ask, but don't do the same to me. Let me prove I love you. Let me prove I don't care what anyone says, and I'll protect you or support you as needed. Please let me do this."  
  
Draco simply sat watching him for a moment before his mouth opened and the words tumbled out before he had the chance to think. "Pansy's wedding is next Friday. Come with me."


	21. Chapter 21

Draco thought about telling Pansy that he'd invited Potter to her wedding. He thought about it on Saturday while he carefully kept from rolling her eyes at her panic and tears while her wedding robes were let out at the waist. He thought about it on Sunday, while repeatedly telling her no, the florist didn't have enough roses to change her mind again. He thought about it Monday while enjoying a blissfully stress-free dinner filled with nothing more complicated than gossip about Daphne's newest conquest, rumored to be royalty from a small, sunny Mediterranean nation.  
  
It never seemed the right moment. Either Pansy was too stressed, and he rather wanted to pass the day not being hexed, thank you, or things were going too well and he hesitated to break the peace. In the end, he didn't tell her, he decided it was probably safest to let her find out when she was distracted by more important things and less likely to raise a fuss. He also thought about telling Harry that Pansy didn't know, but it didn't seem the type of thing he could say in an owl, and between his training and hand-holding for Pansy, he wouldn't be seeing Harry until they met at his flat to floo together to Pansy's.  
  
***  
  
Friday arrived much more quickly than Draco anticipated. He spent over an hour in front of the mirror, telling himself it was because he wanted to look good for his best friend, not Harry, but still didn't feel ready when his doorbell rang at 4 and Lippy let Harry into his study. He looked very good, dressed in well-fitting formal robes and his hair tousled in a way that appeared intentional for once. Draco had to swallow around a suddenly dry mouth as he watched Harry's own gaze linger considerably south of his face.  
  
"Um, Potter?" His voice came out as a squeak, and he swallowed again in effort to maintain a more normal tone. "There's something I need to tell you before we go."  
  
Harry leaned against the couch and cocked an eyebrow, smirking at Draco's discomfort. "What's that?"  
  
"Er, Pansy doesn't actually know I'm bringing you to the wedding."  
  
Harry blinked and straightened, his expression going from smug to nearly panicked in a moment. "You didn't tell Parkinson that you're bringing me to her wedding? She'll kill me. And you."  
  
"Yes, well, I never had the chance between all the panicking she was doing." He knew he sounded defensive and hated it. "I meant to, but suddenly it was Friday and she still didn't know. I just wanted to warn you. I mean, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about, she's going to be very distracted. She may not even notice you're there."  
  
Harry's face told him just how weak his last statement sounded. " _She may not notice I'm there_. Brilliant. I'm going to spend the rest of my life hexed into something unpleasant." He raised his hand to run it through his hair but caught it just in time, lowering it with effort. "If you wanted me out of your life for good, there are better ways than getting me dead."  
  
Draco crossed his arms over his chest tightly and mumbled, "I don't want you out of my life for good, idiot."  
  
"Wait, what?" The shock on Harry's face would have been amusing if it wasn't so out of place.  
  
"Oh come off it, Potter. I'm dragging you, at great personal risk, to my best friend's wedding. It's hardly a complicated murder plot if it's more likely to end me up on the wrong side of her wand... Why did you think I was doing it?" He sat back down in his chair with a flop, heedless of wrinkles, and resisted the urge to pull his knees up as well.  
  
Harry knelt down, tugging Draco's arms down from his chest. "Hey, none of that. I'm an idiot, remember?" He clasped Draco's hands tightly and beamed up at him, tugging him closer. "Thank you. Thank you." The feel of Harry's lips on his, firm and smooth, was a rush so familiar and missed that tears filled his eyes, overflowing and filling his senses with the taste of salt and mint and Harry. He was overwhelmed, and wanted nothing more than to pull closer, to climb into his arms and never leave. He was vaguely aware of Harry's thumbs brushing his cheeks, of his own hands clutching Harry's robes, his legs parting, pulling him closer.  
  
He wasn't certain how much time had passed beyond his brain screaming out ' _not enough_ ' when he heard the sound of Lippy popping into the room. "I's sorry, Master Draco, Sir! Master Harry Potter, Sir! Lippy is sorry but Sirs is going to be late!"  
  
Blinking blearily at the elf, who was wringing her hands and pulling her ears and looking everywhere but at their tangle of limbs, he shook his head and pushed Harry back enough to breathe and settle his thoughts. "Oh fuck, the wedding..."  Harry groaned in response, burying his head in Draco's neck.


	22. Chapter 22

They emerged from the Parkinson's floo to find the room empty except for an elf dressed in formal gilt-trimmed pillowcase. It snapped it's bony fingers at Draco, then Harry, and their robes were cleaned of ash and wrinkle free. "Has the wedding started yet?"  
  
"No, Mister Draco Malfoy, Sir. The wedding not be started yet. You be last guests expected, Sirs. Niddy be telling Mistress Pansy that Mister Draco Malfoy Sir and Mister Harry Potter Sir be arrived." It bowed and disappeared with a pop.  
  
"Well, on the bright side, not noticing I'm here is right out." Harry grinned at Draco's grimace, before firmly grasping his hand and leading him out of the entry. He looked up and down the hallway and glanced at Draco. "So... which way?"  
  
"Heathen," Draco returned with a sigh, but turned to the right and headed for the Parkinson's large conservatory. Harry refused to free his hand, and when they entered, he could sense the moment when the stares of those present turned from shock at Harry Potter attending a Parkinson wedding, to shock that Harry Potter was quite firmly holding Draco Malfoy's hand. Those present were mainly former Slytherin's, however, so the whispering that would normally have followed such a sight was silence instead, as each decided how best to use the information. One woman in the back, wearing a set of red robes and carrying a scroll and quill looked like Christmas had come early, and visibly restrained herself from pouncing on them as they passed.  
  
Draco could feel the tension ratcheting in his back and shoulders. He met a few stares with stares of his own, and the few raised eyebrows with a cool glare. Blaise Zabini, the bastard, seemed entirely too amused by the situation, and the smirk on his face promised years of taunting. Potter seemed oblivious to the stares, simply giving small nods and faint smiles to those who made eye contact, but his grasp on Draco's hand grew tighter as they walked. Finally taking seats midway down the aisle, Draco could only be glad Pansy missed the initial entrance, for her reaction would surely have given that Prophet reporter in the back something to write about. If the elf conveyed the message as stated to him, she would at least have time to get her reactions under control, so she probably wouldn't hex him... much.  
  
He glanced up at Theo standing beside the officiant, meeting his gaze. Theo simply gave a faint shrug and small quirk of his lips. He knew quite well what to expect from Pansy's probable reaction and would be no help, not that Draco expected it. He admitted some relief that he wasn't going to face hexing from Theo, however, and could feel his shoulders relax slightly. They tensed right up again when the sound of the doors opening with a bang heralded Pansy's arrival. He noted Harry keeping his head firmly facing forward, and glanced back at Pansy. Her eyes were on him as she fixed him with a glare. Mouthing " _later_ " she turned her attention to Theo and gave him a smile as warm as her look at Draco had been icy, and walked with her father up the aisle.

***

  
The wedding was brief and to the point, the contracts between both parties being already signed and filed with the Ministry and Gringotts. The cord was tied around their wrists to disappear with a flash. The everburning candles were lit. The kiss was chaste and brief. Draco and Harry received another glare as Pansy walked up the aisle on Theo's arm, Draco bit his lip and noticed Harry's neck and ears turning faintly pink. "Remember, no secrets was your idea, Potter." Draco's murmur was barely audible, but Harry squeezed his hand in acknowledgement.  
  
"Ready?" Harry's expression was so full of love that Draco took a breath and nodded, standing and making his way towards the receiving line where Pansy and Theo were waiting to greet those on their way to the reception and dinner in the ballroom. The other guests seemed to be playing the situation calmly, giving no sign that Harry's presence was in any way untoward, and greeted them both with indifferent politeness.  
  
"Congratulations, Pansy, Theo." Harry's smile was genuine and his arm firmly around Draco's waist when they finally reached the front of the line. Theo returned his smile, though Pansy's attempt was more of a grimace as she reached for Draco's arm and pulled him into a hug.  
  
"You have some explaining to do," was all she said before giving him a push and turning to the elderly witch standing behind him. He gave another nod to Theo and allowed Harry to lead him down the hall.  
  
"Well, that went better than expected." Draco stopped and stared at Harry's amused expression. "Well, neither of us is a frog. We're not injured, either." Harry gave Draco a tug to get him walking again. "Come on, let's go in there so I can say all the stuff I'm probably going to embarrass you by saying now, and we can get it over with."  
  
"That reporter is going to jump on us as soon as we get inside."  
  
"Let her." Harry gave a negligent wave of his hand, a gesture likely picked up from Draco.  
  
"It's too late now, you know. I didn't think about the Prophet's society reporter being here. I thought you'd still have a chance--"  
  
Harry growled quietly and steered them into an open archway. Draco glanced around and saw they were in one of the small family parlors before Potter backed him into the wall and filled his entire frame of vision. "For the last time, none of that. I'm not afraid. Well, I'm kind of afraid of Pansy, but I'm not afraid of the Prophet. I don't want to hide this. I want to hold your hand while walking down Diagon Alley. I want to have lunch with you at the Leaky. I want you to stay over at mine. I want to embarrass our friends by being caught snogging if they floo unexpectedly. Stop trying to push me away to protect me."  
  
Draco bit his lip and nodded slightly, noting Potter's attention focusing on the action. He had only a moment to realize how close they were standing and that the heat radiating off Harry's body was making him dizzy before Harry leaned closer. His head hit the wall with a faint thud then he was once again kissing Harry.  
  
Unlike in his flat, this time he felt hyper-aware of everything. Harry's hands were buried in his hair, clenching and releasing in time with his heartbeat. The faint vibration of Harry's moans into his mouth, too quiet to hear over the blood rushing in his ears. The warm familiar slide of tongue against tongue. The hard planes of Harry pressed against him, chest to knee. The soft feeling of Harry's hair clenched in his own hands as he pulled him closer, harder, pressed tighter between Harry and the wall.  
  
The sound of a throat clearing pulled them apart enough to turn their heads and see Pansy watching them from the entry, her arms crossed and eyebrow cocked. "As much as I hate to break up such an impressive display... Draco, darling, dearest. Could I have a few moments alone, please?"


	23. Chapter 23

Draco smiled faintly at Harry, and gave him a bit of a shove to send him on his way. "You've got a Prophet reporter to deal with, you said." Harry glanced between Draco and Pansy once more before nodding and stepping back, freeing Draco from his position against the wall. After taking a moment to gather himself, he headed toward the archway, nodding at Pansy as he passed. She simply watched, her eyebrow still slightly raised. Once he had left, she pulled out her wand and waved it at the entrance, casting a privacy charm.  
  
"Now, when Niddy told me that Mr. Draco Malfoy sir and Mr. Harry Potter sir had arrived, I thought the poor dear had finally gone round the twist.  _Surely_  my friend would not be so  _mad_  as to put himself in the position he was in a year ago when the boy wonder out there broke his heart by leaving without a word." Even though she was keeping her voice even, her cheeks were beginning to flush in a way that Draco was unfortunately familiar with. "But what do I see? Apparently I'm wrong and you  _are_  stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. Draco, what in the name of Merlin are you _thinking_?"  
  
"Panse--"  
  
"No! He broke your heart, Draco. I'm not going to ask you why you think this time is going to be different because you're not thinking. Or not thinking with anything not currently residing in your pants."  
  
Draco sighed, "I love him. He loves me. I don't know that things aren't going to go wrong."  
  
"Then what are you  _doing_?"  
  
"I'm giving him another chance."  
  
Pansy approached him quickly, grabbing his shoulders and staring into his eyes. "I don't want him to hurt you again. I don't want to see you  _ever_ hurting like that. Give me a reason to not go into the reception and use a dozen not-quite-unforgiveables on him, and if you say  _anything_ about the shagging, I'm going to hex you as well."  
  
Draco pulled her closer into a hug. "Thank you. I do love you, you know."  
  
"You're not answering." Pansy wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. "Don't think I don't notice you're not answering."  
  
Laughing quietly, he replied "I know I'm not answering. You're going to do what you're going to do and I don't really have a lot of say over it. But I'll ask you not to. I don't think he's going to break my heart again. If he does, you can hex him then. Besides, do you really want to be caught hexing the Boy Who Lived in front of that Prophet reporter?"  
  
"I hate you when you're right. I suppose that means I need to make nice with him."  
  
"Only in front of witnesses, dear." He gave her a peck on the forehead as he felt her relax against him.  
  
"You really love him, then?"  
  
"I really love him."  
  
"And he's determined to do this the Gryffindor way and take that bitch from the Prophet head-on?"  
  
"He's probably sharing embarrassing details even now."  
  
"Ugh, why a Gryffindor?"  
  
"Because he wasn't smart enough for anything else." He smirked when he heard Pansy let out a surprised giggle. "And they're lions in the sack."  
  
"Ugh, must you?" She smacked him on the chest and pushed him back, frowning up at him. "You know the words Gryffindor and sex don't go together."  
  
Draco laughed, "Of course, of course. I'll remind you about that when the sprog comes and you're drinking wine again and pestering me for details."  
  
Pansy huffed. "We should go make certain Potter is surviving. Not that I care, but it's probably you he's in there embarrassing."


	24. Chapter 24

Draco awoke to an otherwise empty bed, and though he could see the imprint of Harry's head on the pillow next to his, the place had long gone cold. He stretched and smiled at the twinge of muscles unused over the past year and burrowed deeper into the soft mattress. They had each been faintly tipsy when they left Pansy's after the reception, and Harry had stumbled into Draco leaving the floo in Grimmauld Place, landing them splayed together on the plush rug before the fire. What had started with a brief kiss was soon breath-stealing, and clothes we opened and pushed aside to be left in a trail between the study and bedroom.

His growling stomach finally dragged him out of bed, as well as the faint worry prompted by the empty space beside him. He dug around and pulled on a pair of Harry's pajama bottoms, wandering downstairs into the small kitchen still wiping sleep from his eyes, where he was greeted with the sight of Harry's arse sticking out of the cold cupboard. The kitchen table was piled with what must have been a dozen eggs, a mountain of bacon, and several loaves worth of toast. Also on the table was a copy of the Prophet, face down, though he could see the bottom half of a familiar set of robes in the picture on the fold. “Going a little overboard, aren't we?” He snickered when Harry straightened in surprise, hitting his head with a thunk and letting out a stream of profanity.

“Draco! Good morning!” Harry's face was flushed, and he clutched two jars to his chest like a lifeline.

Draco sighed. “The Prophet's that bad, is it?” Harry's guilty glance toward the paper was enough of an answer. He continued quietly, “I did warn you.”

Harry set the jars down on the table, raspberry jam and marmalade. “You did. And I told you I didn't care. The article is actually kinda funny, in an overwrought-Rita Skeeter kind of way.”

“Must have got her knickers in a twist missing out on that scoop.” He smiled at Harry, seeing him relax at that.

“I'm not worried about Skeeter, I know how to deal with her.” At Draco's raised eyebrow, Harry grinned. “Hermione.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “If anyone could put that one in her place, it's Granger.”

Harry nodded. “She's quite good at it, actually.” Harry poured tea into a pair of mugs, adding sugar and passing one to Draco. “I don't care what the Prophet says, and I won't let them hurt you.”

“What  _does_  the Prophet say?” Draco sat down at the table and pulled a plate over, filling it and spreading marmalade on his toast.

Harry sat down opposite and pulled the paper over, turning it to Draco long enough to see the picture and headline. The picture showed an embarrassingly open-faced Draco, staring at Harry like a besotted idiot, while Harry laughed at something, pulling Draco to him and wrapping him in a one-armed hug. It was incongruously Hufflepuff when paired with the headline above it proclaiming CHOSEN ONE IN SECRET TORRID AFFAIR WITH DEATH EATER. He laughed in spite of himself and Harry grinned across the table at him. “Yeah, it's all pretty much like that. The Boy-Who-Lived and death eater thing are mentioned pretty much every sentence. They don't accuse you of blackmail or Imperius or anything, though.” Harry turned the page and continued, “they do seem to think you're just after my pretty face and body.” He fluttered his eyelashes at Draco over the paper, and laughed when Draco threw an uneaten corner of toast at him. “That's honestly the worst of it.”

Draco held his hand out, and Harry passed the paper across, filling his own plate as Draco skimmed the article. He was right, it was overwrought, but nothing near what he feared could happen. The entire piece had a tone of doom, of waiting for Harry to come to his senses, but Draco had lived with that feeling as well, both now and before Harry had left. The worst had happened once already, so he wasn't concerned by it appearing in the Prophet. “I think you're mistaken. It says here on page 3 that I used  _my_  pretty face and body to entrap you.” Harry looked up, a fork-full of eggs most of the way into his mouth. “Here, 'and we hope that Harry will realize that a pretty face isn't everything and will come to his senses soon.'”

Harry leered at Draco, “Yes it--”

“Harry!” The shout came from the top of the stairs, and was followed by the sound of rapid footsteps. Draco turned in place, tensing and wishing he'd grabbed a shirt or his wand or something when he saw Ron's large frame in the doorway. “Oh what the fuck. It's true?” He was staring between them, half-clothed in pajamas, breakfast spread between them, a look of shock on his face.

Another rush of footsteps followed, and Hermione burst in behind Ron. “Ron! Wait a-- oh.” her face flushed with color as she took in Harry and Draco's half-dressed state. “Good morning, Harry. Draco.”

“ _Draco_? You're calling Malfoy  _Draco_  now too? What the fuck is going on?”

Harry stood and looked at Ron and Hermione. “Could you guys wait for me upstairs, please? I'll be right up.”

Hermione pulled the still-sputtering Ron back upstairs, and Harry turned to Draco. Before he could speak, Draco whispered, “you didn't tell them, then?”

Harry ran his hand through his hair and sighed, “If you'll remember, I didn't realize there was anything to tell them until we were practically on our way.”

He nodded faintly and stood. “I should get dressed.”

Harry gave a distracted nod, his attention on the doorway. Draco hurried out, rushing upstairs and gathering his clothes. He didn't wait to dress, just grabbed his wand and disappeared with a pop. Harry's friends had found out, and they weren't happy. It was last year all over again.


	25. Chapter 25

Draco apparated into his bedroom and looked around, waiting for his thoughts to catch up with him. He knew panic was keeping him from thinking clearly, but his mind was full of thoughts of the past year, of walking to Grimmauld Place and seeing Harry packing. Of hearing Harry say things weren't working out, when he knew he meant that Hermione disapproved. He'd thought after her help with his father's case, she at least was starting to believe him a human being worthy of being loved, but he knew Harry couldn't stand by him when faced with the combined displeasure of his two oldest friends. His breathing was speeding up, out of his control, and he knew he was shaking, though he felt strangely separate from his body. He dropped the pile of clothing in his arms and made his way to the loo, turning on the shower as hot as it could go, trying to scrub Harry off his skin before he realized he was still wearing Harry's striped pajama pants. His laughter had a hysterical tinge and he finally collapsed in a heap under the hot spray.  
  
He was feeling much calmer when he emerged half an hour later. He was clean, he smelled of his own soap, and his skin was bright pink from scrubbing and heat. He dressed slowly, his mind still going over the events of the morning, carefully avoiding any thoughts of the previous night. He knew he shouldn't have left, that he'd promised Harry the chance to prove his love, but he couldn't ignore his certainty that things couldn't change. He knew he couldn't face losing Harry all over again.  
  
A quiet knocking roused his attention and he looked up to see Lippy poke her head in. "Oh, Master is awake! Master must be getting dressed! Master must be coming to the study!"  
  
"I don't wish to see anyone, Lippy." He cringed inwardly at how hoarse he sounded, then watched in surprise as Lippy's head shook until her large ears flapped.  
  
"No, Sir, Mr. Malfoy, Sir. Master is to be coming to the study! Mistress Narcissa be very specific. If Mr. Draco Malfoy be here, he be coming right now!"  
  
He nodded slowly, his mother wouldn't be put off. "Very well, tell her I will be there in a moment."  
  
Lippy nodded, pulling the door closed behind her. He decided to avoid making her wait, she'd probably just come in if he took too long, and simply pulled on his sleeprobe and slippers, running his fingers through his wet hair to try and settle it back from his face. He made his way quickly to the study, and entered to see his mother sitting calmly in the most comfortable chair, a pot of tea on the small table beside her. The opposing chair had been transfigured to something much less comfortable, and he almost smiled at the memory of the last time they'd been in this position; in the manor when the notice of his engagement to Pansy had appeared in the Prophet.  
  
Knowledge of why she was here, of what the Prophet had reported this time caused his hands to clench and he took a moment to collect himself as she watched him quietly. "Good morning, Mother."  
  
She gave a small nod in return. "Good morning, Draco. How are you?"  
  
He knew the pleasantries were scripted, an opener to further interrogation and likely chastisement, but he was tired and she was his mother. He didn't answer, merely crossed the room and ignoring the chair, collapsed in a heap at her feet, burying his face in her lap. Her surprise was evident, as she startled, but she quickly reached down and wrapped him in her arms. She simply held him, murmuring quiet nonsense in his ear, gently rubbing his back, and rocked him as he cried.  
  
Once his tears had stopped, and he was left feeling thick-chested and bleary-eyed, she gently pushed him upright and stared down into his face. She offered a small smile, "That wasn't quite the reaction I was expecting to the question. I had planned on simply chiding you for keeping news of your love life from me and leaving me to find out from the Prophet, but it seems there is more at play here, hm?"  
  
He nodded, but didn't feel up to replying. She pressed a cup of tea into his hands and watched pointedly until he took a sip. The warmth helped to ease his aching chest and he sipped again before quietly responding. "Yes, there is more."  
  
She settled back in her chair and poured her own cup. He settled himself more comfortably, deciding the floor was less effort and likely more comfortable than the transfigured chair, and stared into the flickering fire trying frantically to gather his scattered thoughts. "Harry and I..." He took a sip of tea to clear his tightening throat. "We were seeing each other last year. Briefly. Before he went to Romania." His mother was silent so he took a deep breath and continued. "It was only for a few weeks, just over a month. His friends found out, well, Granger found out. She wasn't happy. He left for Romania. He was the one who snuck father out of Azkaban, I'm sure you know that. We met again when he told me. He asked if we could try again. Then there was the story in the Prophet, and his friends saw it and they were... upset."  
  
His words trailed off, and he was uncertain what else to say. He didn't want to talk about the Well, and his foolish wish. He didn't want to talk about finding Harry in the midst of packing. He didn't want to talk about how he'd let himself hope things would be different enough to find himself back in Harry's bed, only to be confronted with cold reality the next morning. He didn't want to talk about how comfortable it had felt before Weasley had arrived, actually being able to joke about the article. But his mother's blasted silence was just begging to be filled, curse her Slytherin heart.  
  
He was almost relieved when there was a loud banging from the front door, until he heard the agitated-sounding voice obviously arguing with Lippy and the library door burst open. Harry looked frantic, Lippy was wailing beside him, and he burst out "Draco-- Mrs. Malfoy. What happened? You just left! And your floo is closed... Why are you crying?"


	26. Chapter 26

Silence would have descended in the wake of Harry's questions, were it not for the still-frantic wailing of his house elf.  After a moment, however, his mother broke in "Lippy, we have a guest. We'll need a refresher on the tea, and perhaps something light to eat as well." The elf disappeared, still wailing, but muffled by the distance to the kitchen. Draco could only stare at Harry, knowing his face betrayed the confusion he was feeling. Harry didn't appear much better. He seemed to have calmed down, but Draco could detect the telltale flushing on his neck that heralded the incoming loss of temper.  
  
Finally, impatience won out and Harry broke the renewed silence. "Will someone  _please_ tell me what's going on?" His voice and jaw were both tight, and he looked ready to start throwing hexes any moment.  
  
Draco dropped his gaze, noting Harry hadn't bothered changing, either, as evinced by the pajama pants sticking out the bottom of his robe. Something about the fact that both he and Harry were preparing to have tea with his mother while wearing pajamas nearly caused him to start laughing, though he knew it was simply because he was dipping once again toward hysterical. Harry opened his mouth again, but was interrupted by Lippy, bearing the formal tea service and a tiered platter filled with finger sandwiches.  
  
"How do you take your tea, Mr. Potter?"  
  
Harry ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Sugar and lemon, please."  
  
His mother nodded, and gestured him toward the uncomfortable chair. Harry sat, then shifted with a grimace, finally sliding forward to sit at the very edge. She turned to Draco and waved her wand briefly, conjuring another, identically uncomfortable chair beside the first. "And get off the floor, Draco. This is hardly the way to behave in company."  
  
Draco levered himself up off the floor, matching Harry's grimace as he also slid to the edge of the seat. His mother smirked very briefly and passed tea. "Now, then. I trust you are well, Mr. Potter?"  
  
He closed his eyes, wishing his mother wasn't determined to make this situation as drawn out and uncomfortable for him as possible. Harry looked confused by the pleasantries. "Er, very well, thank you."  
  
"Very good, I am pleased to hear it. It's always nice to hear those who have done you a good turn are well." Narcissa's smile was bland and she took a delicate sip of tea. "Sandwich?"  
  
"No thank you, Mrs. Malfoy, I'm really not hungry."  
  
"Ah, well then. Do you not like your tea, Mr. Potter?"  
  
"What? Oh..." Harry took a hurried sip. "It's lovely, thank you."  
  
His mother beamed, and he wisely looked more worried. Draco kept quiet and hoped his mother's attention would remain off him. "Excellent. Now Mr. Potter, may I call you Harry?"  
  
"Of course, Mrs. Malfoy."  
  
"Then you really must call me Narcissa."  
  
She paused a moment before he replied "Of course Narcissa."  
  
She took another sip of her tea, her smile once again turning bland. "Now, Harry, I must ask you what your intentions are toward my son."  
  
Harry coughed, and Draco wished he could vanish himself. "Pardon, Mrs. Malfoy?"  
  
She tsked, "Narcissa. If we are going to be close, you will need to accustom yourself. What are your intentions toward Draco?"  
  
Harry looked bemusedly between Narcissa's bland smile and Draco's painfully flushed face. "I love him."  
  
His mother leaned back, her posture relaxing slightly. "And this article in the Prophet was an intentional outing on your part?"  
  
"I hadn't really thought it through that much... I mean, I didn't plan it, but I don't care what they say as long as they're not accusing Draco of anything."  
  
"And your friends were... upset to learn it this way?"  
  
Harry's head swiveled to Draco, frustration back in an instant. "Is that what this is about? Merlin, Draco! You thought they were going to talk me out of this?"  
  
Draco slumped in his chair, back and shoulders curling up and stared into his tea.  
  
"I must admit," his mother broke in, "it is quite a shock to find out such important things about those we love via the Daily Prophet."  
  
Harry's attention remained focused on Draco. "Ron was upset, yeah. Hermione was kinda surprised, but only because it appeared in the Prophet at all. She's going to talk Ron around."  
  
Draco's head shot up. "What?"  
  
"I said, which you would know if you had stuck around like I thought you were planning on instead of up and disappearing and closing your floo so I couldn't reach you, that Hermione's fine with it. She'll bring Ron around."  
  
"Granger's fine with it?" He knew he was repeating himself, but he didn't feel capable of anything else.  
  
"Hermione Granger-Weasley is fine with it. With us. This."  
  
"Well then, I don't see where there's a problem." His mother frowned fiercely at them. "Except, of course, the part where you leave us to learn about the important things in your lives through the Daily Prophet." She set her tea down on the table beside her and stood, smoothing her robes. "And I shut the floo when I arrived, Mr. Potter. I believe Draco was in the shower at the time. Now, if you two will excuse me, I shall be returning to Italy and letting you two sort out... this."  
  
She waved her wand at the fireplace, then gathered some powder from the jar on the mantle. "Oh, Draco dear? Do keep me informed. And remember to shut your floo should you need it." She smiled warmly at them before disappearing into the green flames.  
  
Harry stood immediately, rubbing his lower back and glaring at the chair before turning the glare on Draco. "So you thought I was going to abandon you again, and you weren't even going to give me the chance not to, is that it?"  
  
Draco opened his mouth to reply, but what came out instead was, "you had tea with my mother in your pajamas."  
  
He winced and covered his mouth with his hand as Harry stared at him a moment before his lips began twitching. It only took a moment before he was laughing. "I had tea with your mum in my pajamas.  _You_ had tea with your mum in your pajamas!"  
  
"Oh Merlin." His face felt hot, and he knew he was likely red as a Weasley. He wished he'd taken the time to put on more than the robe and slippers. As it was, he felt very exposed when Harry approached and ran his fingers through his still-damp hair.  
  
"I wish you would trust me." His voice was quiet. "When I realized you weren't just hiding out upstairs, I was terrified. I thought I'd lost you."  
  
Draco stood from the uncomfortable chair as well, burying his face in Harry's shoulder. "I was afraid. I panicked. I couldn't just wait there while you were taken away again."  
  
"I'm not going to be 'taken away' again. I can promise that much." Draco leaned against Harry, and Harry wrapped his arms around him, running his hand soothingly up and down his back. After a few moments, Harry's hand paused at his waist and he snickered. "We had tea with your mum in pajamas... but  _you're_  not wearing pants."


End file.
